


Please

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Duncan survives, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, First Time, Grey Warden Stamina, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-02 04:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: Alistair has to learn to ask for what he wants.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbitdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/gifts).



It takes Duncan longer than it should to notice. The darkspawn are very much on his mind, along with this Blight that no one believes is a Blight, and it's easy to dismiss the way Alistair watches him. It's nothing but a boy's hero worship, not worth any special thought. The way he stands straighter when Duncan nods his approval, and the way he shrinks into himself when he fails at some task: Duncan has seen hundreds of young soldiers just like him, eager to succeed and to please their commander. It doesn't mean anything more than that.

That Duncan sometimes thinks about what "more" would involve also doesn't matter. He entertains the occasional fantasy--all that eagerness to please and to obey could be as rewarding in more intimate settings as it is on the training field--but he refuses to let his imagination color his perception of reality.

In any event, he has plenty of other things to occupy his thoughts, between Cailan's enthusiasm and Loghain's suspicions and the darkspawn marching ever closer. The Joinings at Ostagar give him hope, though, three Warden recruits who become three Wardens. It's rare to be so lucky, to have all three survive, and maybe that means the Maker is with them after all.

And when they reach the top of the tower and light the beacon, for just a moment, Duncan thinks they've done what no one else in history has ever done: stopped a Blight before it had time to truly begin. He puts an arm around Alistair's shoulders, his other arm around Mahariel, dragging both of them into a rough hug. Mahariel laughs, but Alistair makes a small sound, a whimper or a gasp, and he leans into Duncan's side, almost limp.

Then everything goes to shit, and Duncan forgets about that small noise in favor of surviving.

###

He doesn't think of it again until six months later.

They're in Denerim--all five of them, despite his own better judgment, which demands to know if he's trying to get them all killed. The Pearl isn't the safest place for them, but it isn't the most dangerous, either, and so when their business is concluded, Duncan allows them an hour to do as they wish. He's wound too tight himself to be interested in anyone selling their services, too aware of the risks they're taking to let his guard down that much. Still, no reason the others shouldn't have a moment to enjoy themselves.

A little to his amusement, Tabris takes her allotted hour and plays cards with Isabela in the corner, game after game, both of them cheating shamelessly. To Duncan's even greater amusement, Mahariel and Alistair watch them play, seated at the next table over with a mug each. Amell rolls her eyes at the lot of them, amused and baffled, and goes off to find a more traditional form of entertainment in a brothel.

The game moves slower after a while, the cards getting shuffled more than played. From halfway across the room, Duncan can't tell what they're talking about, but Mahariel's eyes are getting wider and Alistair's face redder, so it's not difficult to make a reasonable guess. Duncan hides a smile behind his own mug, idly curious how far Isabela will take this. Or perhaps the better question is how far Tabris will let her take this, since Duncan suspects Isabela won't be the one to call a halt.

When Tabris pushes back her chair, Duncan thinks that's the end of the game--both games--and then nearly drops his mug in shock as Tabris goes to her knees at Isabela's feet. Her movements are graceful and very clearly deliberate. Also very clearly not a shock to Isabela: her mouth curves in a satisfied smile as she strokes her finger gently along Tabris's jaw and leans forward to murmur something in her ear. What she whispered is clear soon enough. Tabris closes her eyes and abases herself, bending forward to brush her lips across the top of one of Isabela's boots, then the other.

Blinking, Duncan pulls his gaze away and over to where Mahariel and Alistair sit frozen in their chairs. Mahariel is staring at Tabris in utter bafflement, clearly unable to fathom what would make someone do any such thing. Alistair...

Alistair is staring, too, but at Isabela, and he's definitely not baffled. Neither is he angry, or upset, or any other emotion Duncan might have expected, and it's the unexpectedness of it all that throws Duncan off. It takes the full space of a long, slow breath before he can identify the expression on Alistair's face.

Longing. And Alistair is begging for what he wants. Silently, perhaps even unconsciously, but his face, his posture, everything is a plea for Isabela's attention, for her to look at him the way she's looking at Tabris.

For a moment, Duncan thinks Alistair might actually get down on his knees beside her, and it shocks him breathless, heat rising inside him at the image, then rising higher at the thought of Alistair on his knees _here_ , at Duncan's feet, staring up at him rather than at Isabela.

Then the moment is gone, Tabris sitting back on her heels, face flushed but unembarrassed, laughing at whatever it is that Isabela says next. Mahariel joins in the laughter after a moment, though she still looks a little surprised. Alistair laughs, too, awkwardly and briefly, averting his eyes from where Tabris still kneels at Isabela's feet.

His attempt to look away, however, has him looking right at Duncan, and Duncan nearly drops his mug for a second time as their eyes meet. For a moment, that begging look is back in Alistair's face, pleading and desperate and unmistakable. Then Alistair jerks his eyes in a third direction, his face now as pale as it was red a moment ago.

Duncan sits very still and doesn't look again in their direction. He has quite enough to occupy his thoughts already.

###

The whole way back to their inn, Alistair says perhaps three words, careful to keep at least two of the others between himself and Duncan. Awkward as it is, at least it erases any doubts that lingered in Duncan's mind about what he saw, and about whether he interpreted it correctly. The more carefully Alistair avoids him, especially when Tabris gets no similar treatment, the more sure Duncan becomes.

When they reach the inn, the common room is crowded enough they can barely find a place at a table. In the shuffle, Duncan maneuvers them around without making it obvious he's doing so, lining them up so that Alistair ends up seated between himself and Tabris. It's a bit of a dirty trick, but Alistair can't continue to avoid him forever.

By the stiff shoulder brushing against Duncan's own, Alistair had clearly thought otherwise. He holds himself tightly, trying not to let any part of him touch any part of Duncan, and he picks at his food without any sign of enthusiasm. The others are only half done with the meal when he retreats.

Staring after him, Tabris asks, "Is he still upset about-"

"He'll be fine," Duncan says, trying to hide his exasperated amusement with both of them. Tabris for not thinking before she made her little display, and Alistair for not thinking, period. Does he really think he'll be able to avoid Duncan in the tiny space that is their shared room? Or does he think he might somehow persuade one of the others to share with Duncan in his place?

Alistair's plan, Duncan realizes soon enough, is to pretend to be asleep: his back to the door and the blankets drawn up to his ears. It might be more convincing if he relaxed, but as it is, the tense line of his back gives him away.

Duncan makes no effort to soften his footfalls as he crosses the room to sit on the side of his own bed. "Alistair," he says as he sits. "I know you're not asleep."

"I was," Alistair mutters, doing a fair impression of someone who just woke up.

"Look at me," Duncan says, and Alistair's shoulders stiffen.

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you."

"Can't we talk tomor-"

"No." Firm, calm. "Now look at me."

Slowly, Alistair rolls onto his back to lie staring at the ceiling. "Talk about what?"

"Look at me."

Alistair darts a sideways glance at him, clearly trying to judge how far Duncan is prepared to push this, then rolls all the way onto his other side. He's still trying to look casual, one arm under his pillow, but his face is pinched and anxious.

"Did it bother you," Duncan asks, "what Tabris did at The Pearl?"

Alistair's gaze jumps from Duncan's knee to his face to the wall behind him. "She surprised me."

"I noticed."

"You...noticed?" His voice has started to shake, just a bit.

"I saw your face."

Alistair swallows hard, looking faintly ill, but says nothing.

After a long silence, Duncan changes tack. "Why did you leave the common room tonight?" A question he could answer for himself, but he wants to hear Alistair say it.

He's pale and sweating, staring at Duncan like he's waiting for an axe to fall.

"Answer me," Duncan says. "Why did you leave the common room?"

When Alistair speaks, it's in a whisper. "I needed to get away from you."

"Why?"

Alistair's eyes squeeze closed, but when Duncan says, "Look at me," they snap open again.

"Please-" he whispers.

"Why did you need to get away from me?" Duncan has years of experience at keeping his voice calm while his heart pounds in his chest, though that skill is usually called on in entirely different circumstances.

The answer is slower this time, each word struggling past the embarrassment. "I wanted to touch you. And I knew I couldn't. Shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't you?"

Alistair is more than embarrassed now: he's mortified, his face flushed so red it looks painful, his eyes trying desperately to close so he can hide himself even a little. "Because I...you...I can't, you don't want-"

"I didn't ask you what I wanted," Duncan says, cutting across the words without raising his voice.

Alistair winces, shoulders hunching, eyes shut tight again. "I'm sorr-"

"I also didn't ask for an apology." Duncan waits for Alistair to force his eyes open before he goes on, softening his tone. "You wanted to touch me. But it was more than that, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Not even a whisper, just a breath.

"What did you want?"

His mouth opens and closes, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes wide in his flushed face. "I wanted..."

Then he stops, expression pleading with Duncan for mercy.

Mercy Duncan isn't prepared to give, not yet. "What did you want?"

"I wanted...I want...I..." He draws in a huge breath and says in a rush, "I wanted to get on my knees."

"And do what?"

His lips form a silent "please" that Duncan ignores, just as he ignores the tears welling up in Alistair's eyes.

"Answer me."

But it becomes clear that Alistair has been pushed to the limit, that he truly can't force the words out. His breath isn't just fast, it's too fast--panicked--and the tears spill over.

"Close your eyes," Duncan says at last, and Alistair obeys instantly. "Now tell me what you wanted."

Alistair's face is twisted, anguished, but he whispers, "I wanted...I wanted to do what Tabris did. What she did to Isabela. But to you." His throat works. "I wanted to be on my knees for you."

"Not just on your knees," Duncan says matter-of-factly.

"No." He's shaking, hand fisted in the blankets. "On...on my knees, but all the way down. So I could-" His voice cracks, and he has to try again, barely louder than before. "So I could kiss...your feet or the floor or, or whatever you told me to."

He stops as if he's done, but Duncan isn't. "What else?"

"Nothing else," Alistair says, voice shaking as much as the rest of him. "Nothing!"

"Don't lie to me." He puts the barest hint of a snap to it. "What else did you want?"

The sound Alistair makes is painful to hear, low and wounded, but the words break free at last. "I wanted to suck your cock."

"Would you have done it right there in the common room?" Duncan asks, keeping his tone curious and no more.

"Yes." Tears slip out from under Alistair's eyelids. "Anywhere you wanted me to. Anywhere you'd let me."

Duncan's cock is achingly hard, and he takes advantage of Alistair's closed eyes to ease the pressure as best he can. "If I didn't want you to suck me, if I wanted you to use your hands so that I came on your face. Would you want that?"

Another silent "yes," Alistair's lips lingering on the shape of it.

"And if I didn't want you to touch me at all? If I wanted to see you with your mouth around someone else's cock?"

Not even a word this time, just a small, jerky nod.

There are a hundred other scenarios Duncan can imagine, but the tears are falling freely now, and he knows he's pushed Alistair far enough for one night, even if the possibilities for other nights are endless.

He crosses to Alistair's bed and lies down, sliding one arm under Alistair's shoulders and wiping away the tears with his other hand. "Shhh," he whispers into Alistair's hair. "Shhh. You did well."

Alistair shudders and curls into him, face pressed into his chest and arms folded between them. "I thought," he whispers, "I thought you would hate me."

"No." He kisses the top of Alistair's head and strokes a gentle hand down his back. "Not that. Never that. Now shhh."

###

Alistair falls asleep eventually, waking only briefly when Duncan reclaims his arm and slides out of bed. His half-open eyes follow Duncan around the room: to the door to check the lock, to the other bed to pull off his boots, to the table to blow out the candle. As soon as Duncan climbs back into bed, Alistair sighs and goes back to sleep, Duncan's arm around his chest.

Leaving him to sleep works no better in the morning. They've been on the road too long, and suffered too many attacks under cover of night; deep sleep is a potentially lethal condition with the Blight creeping north.

And so his eyes open the moment Duncan sits up. Unfocused and confused at first, then going wide as he remembers. Duncan watches him step back through their conversation, and it's easy to tell which part he's remembering at any given moment just based on his expression. Keeping secrets has never been Alistair's strength, and it only makes Duncan shake his head at himself, to realize how long he ignored something that should have been obvious.

To give Alistair as much privacy as the small room will allow, Duncan busies himself with his morning routine. By the time he's dressed, Alistair is sitting cross-legged on his bed, back against the wall and expression wary. Despite the way his hands twist the edge of the blanket, his tone is almost perfectly level as he asks, "What now?"

The directness is a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. Duncan gives him a faint smile and sits on the edge of the other bed, letting his hands hang down between his knees. "That depends on you."

Alistair's expression loses none of its wariness. "On me?"

"If you want to pretend none of this happened, we can. I won't mention it again."

The answer clearly doesn't make Alistair happy, but he dips his chin in a shallow nod. "What if that's not what I want?"

"What _do_ you want?" Duncan asks, turning it around to hide his own surprise.

A flush crawls up Alistair's face, and he looks away, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. Duncan waits, just as glad to let him think. One of his fears for this morning--that Alistair would be too mortified to speak or meet his eyes--has already been laid to rest, but rushing blindly forward is no better than being speechless from unnecessary embarrassment.

Alistair huffs out a breath through his nose, like he's just made a difficult decision, and throws back the blankets. In contrast, Duncan is nearly holding his own breath as Alistair climbs out of bed and crosses the narrow distance between them. Is he...?

Yes.

Whatever Alistair lacks in experience, he makes up for with a warrior's training, kneeling almost gracefully at Duncan's feet. He's breathing a little too fast, and his face is still red, but his jaw is set and he bends forward without hesitation, pressing a kiss to first one of Duncan's boots, then to the other. The boots are heavy leather, too thick for Duncan to feel anything except a slight pressure. That doesn't stop the rush that travels up from his feet through his whole body.

Alistair begins to straighten, and Duncan puts a hand on the back of his head to stop him. Deliberate rather than hard or forceful, but Alistair freezes the moment he feels it.

"All right," Duncan murmurs, rubbing his fingers over the short hairs at the base of Alistair's skull. "Then these are the rules. So long as you're on your knees, you do what I say: no arguing, no hesitating, no second-guessing. I'll take any of those to mean you want to stop. Do you understand?"

Alistair nods.

"When I ask a question, you'll answer me out loud, and truthfully. Do you understand?"

"Yes..." Alistair's voice trails off at the end of the word, then comes back stronger. "Yes, ser."

One corner of Duncan's mouth twitches up, more at the excitement in Alistair's voice than at the words themselves. "If you want to stop, you can stand up, or simply say the word. And if I choose to stop for any reason, you don't argue or plead. Do you understand?"

This time, Alistair hesitates, shoulders flexing.

"Do you understand?" Duncan asks again, curious what part of that has proven to be the sticking point. Curious, and a little wary himself.

"Um." Alistair swallows. "Ser. You said what I should do if I want to stop. But, um, what if I want to start? Ser."

"I think you've already figured that one out." He presses on the back of Alistair's head very slightly. "If you're on your knees like this, I'll assume you want to start."

"And, um, what if...what if I don't want to stop? If I want more?"

"Then ask," Duncan says. "You won't argue or plead if I say stop, and you won't disobey me, but you can ask for more. I may not let you have it, but you can always ask." One hand still on the back of Alistair's head, Duncan brushes the back of the other against his cheek, enjoying the shiver that runs through Alistair. "In fact, there are times I'll want to hear you beg."

The small noise Alistair makes then sounds very much like begging, and Duncan smiles, releasing him. "Sit back."

Alistair settles on his heels, meeting Duncan's gaze directly, then looking hurriedly to the left. "Can I...I mean...where should I look, ser?"

"At me," Duncan says. Of all the things Alistair might try, open defiance is low on Duncan's list of concerns, and for now, being able to read his face more than outweighs the risk. "Spread your knees."

Alistair starts to do as he's told, then reaches for Duncan's knee to steady himself. Before he can, Duncan grabs his wrist. "One more rule. You don't touch me unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ser." Alistair's eyes are dark, his mouth a little open.

Duncan gives it a moment to see what he does, but Alistair just looks back at him, waiting. "What did I tell you to do?" Duncan asks, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Sorry, ser!" Alistair spreads his knees wide, so wide it has to be straining the muscles at his groin, but Duncan lets him stay that way.

He's beautiful like this, all heat and anticipation, his cock growing harder with every breath. If they had more time...

But they don't. One of the others will knock on the door soon enough, and that will be the end for this morning. Whatever Duncan decides to do, it can't take too long.

So.

"Stroke your cock."

Alistair's next breath stutters, and he flushes, but he also does exactly as instructed. The first stroke is light and slow, his eyes on Duncan's face to check whether he's doing it right.

Duncan gives a small nod of approval, taking note of the way it makes Alistair's thighs flex and the flush spreads to his ears. Not a surprising reaction, not after everything else, but still worth remembering for next time.

This time, though, they need to be quick. "If you were alone, and you knew you only had a little while before I walked through that door," a flash of interest crosses Alistair's face, and Duncan makes another mental note, " _and_ you didn't want me to catch you, how would you touch yourself to be sure you were done before I arrived?"

Alistair hesitates, then raises his hand to spit carefully into his palm, his eyes measuring Duncan's reaction as if afraid he'll be reprimanded for it. When Duncan just returns his look, he drops the hand back to his cock and begins to stroke again. Faster now, the sound of his hand moving over his cock loud in the otherwise quiet room.

He keeps his eyes on Duncan's face nearly to the end, though the effort is obvious, his jaw clenched tight and the muscles in his neck standing out. At Duncan's murmured, "Close your eyes," he gasps in relief and lets his head fall forward, chin resting on his chest as he strokes his cock another half dozen times and comes. Mostly all over himself, but a few drops hit Duncan's boots.

"Um," is the first thing Alistair says when he stops shaking, and it's so like him that Duncan has to control a smile. "Sorry about your boots? I'll clean them?"

There are some fascinating possibilities there, if Duncan didn't have a different game in mind for the next few weeks. "Leave them."

Alistair shoots him a confused look. "Yes, ser."

"Something for you to think about while we walk today," Duncan says, "and next time you want to get on your knees for me."

"Y-yes, ser." He licks his lips, dropping his gaze from Duncan's face to his cock, hard under his trousers. "What now?"

"Now you clean up, and we go to breakfast." The confusion intensifies, and Duncan strokes Alistair's cheek with two fingers. "There will be time later for other things. I promise."

Alistair chews his lower lip, clearly biting back a question. With someone more experienced, Duncan would probably leave it there. So long as they're playing this game, it isn't Alistair's place to question Duncan's orders.

But Alistair isn't experienced--not with sex and certainly not with this kind of game--so Duncan asks, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"What about you?" Alistair blurts out, almost before Duncan has finished. "Shouldn't you get...get something out of this?"

"I did," Duncan says, and at Alistair's baffled look, he smiles. "You at my feet, doing what I said? That's more than something."

"But don't you want..." A wave of his clean hand indicates his own softening cock and Duncan's hard one. The confusion is now mixed with hurt, and Duncan can fill in what Alistair didn't say.

_"Don't you want me?"_

"Yes," Duncan says. "But we don't really have enough time." He cups Alistair's chin, pressing gently up until Alistair rises off his heels and gets close enough to kiss without straining. A brief kiss, nothing more than a brush of lips, but Alistair's pulse jumps under his fingers. "I want quite a lot of things, but I also want time to enjoy them. To make sure you enjoy them."

The hurt is gone from Alistair's face, even if the confusion remains. That one he'll have to deal with on his own; Duncan is sure he'll figure it out within a few days.

###

It doesn't take Alistair long to get ready, despite the fact that he keeps glancing at Duncan. He's thinking again, and this time, Duncan waits it out, not sure if something is bothering him or if he's simply digesting everything that's happened.

Not until Alistair has finished lacing his boots does he ask, very hesitantly and without looking at Duncan, "Can I touch you?"

Ah.

"Alistair," Duncan says gently, and Alistair flinches. "Those rules are for when you're on your knees. Not for all times and all places."

He can actually see the moment when Alistair understands, his face brightening and his shoulders easing down from his ears. "So, if I wanted to, I could, um, I could kiss you?"

"Do you want to?" Duncan asks, teasing him a little.

For an answer, Alistair crosses the room to where Duncan sits on the edge of the bed and bends down to kiss him. The angle and Alistair's inexperience make it awkward, and Alistair pulls back after a moment, embarrassed.

"Or maybe I shouldn't," he says with a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm, um, not very good at it."

Duncan puts a hand on his chest to ease him back a step, giving himself room to stand. They're nearly the same height, and he smiles at Alistair from only a few inches away. "This may help."

He doesn't help more than that, though, letting Alistair set the pace. He wants no confusion about when the rules apply and when they don't.

Frowning in concentration, Alistair reaches out slowly to touch Duncan's beard, rubbing the coarse hairs between his fingers and then smoothing them back out. His fingers ghost over Duncan's throat and the stubble there, along his jaw and the curve of his ear, and finally through his hair. He doesn't pull or grab, just combs his fingers through it and around to the back of Duncan's neck. Only then does he lean forward, eyes on Duncan's mouth until he's too close to see it anymore.

The first touch is light, more a shared breath than a kiss, and Alistair immediately draws back to check Duncan's reaction. Duncan smiles and rests his hands on Alistair's hips, neither pulling him in nor pushing him away. "Just the one kiss?" he asks, teasing again.

Alistair grins shyly. "That was two, really."

He leans back in without waiting for an answer. The kiss is firmer this time, more confident, and he gains confidence with each that follows, until the tip of his tongue traces a line along Duncan's lower lip. Duncan lets him in, tilting his own head slightly for a better angle but otherwise keeping still. He's happy to let Alistair explore, especially as the kisses get longer and deeper and Alistair's breath starts coming faster. The hands on the back of Duncan's neck are squeezing now, Alistair's hips grinding against his-

A fist thumps hard on their door, and Alistair jerks back with a startled gasp.

"Meet you downstairs!" Tabris calls through the wood, continuing on without waiting for a reply.

Since Alistair looks like he's about to pass out, either from embarrassment or arousal, that's probably just as well.

###

By the time Alistair has recovered enough for them to head downstairs, the others are already seated at a table and halfway through their breakfasts. As they reach the table, Tabris looks up, eyes them critically, and says, in the tone of someone who's been suffering greatly, "Finally."

Horrified, Alistair goes brilliantly red, staring at her like she's a dragon who just crashed down in front of him. "Wh-what?"

She snorts and opens her mouth, then winces and closes it again, turning a glare on Amell, who smiles blandly and asks Alistair, "Tea?"

Alistair stands frozen in the act of putting his pack down beside the table, the strap still in his hand as he looks from her to Mahariel to Tabris and back. The only person he doesn't look at is Duncan. Since Duncan has already taken a seat directly across from him, that particular omission is painfully obvious.

"Sit, Alistair," Duncan says. He lifts the pack from Alistair's hand and lets it fall to the floor. "Have some breakfast."

Amell passes down two mugs of tea without comment, though her eyes are dancing. Mahariel is looking at the ceiling with studious care, and Tabris is still glaring at Amell for the kicked shin or trod upon foot or whatever it was Amell did to forestall her teasing.

Duncan helps himself to breakfast and then, when Alistair just sits frozen on the bench, piles a plate high for him, too. "Eat," Duncan says, sliding the plate across the table to him. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

The question is clear in the look Alistair shoots him: _"Is it all right that they know?"_

Since Duncan had never expected to keep it secret--if the close quarters of a wilderness camp didn't give them away, Alistair's inability to guard his expression would--it's easy to smile reassuringly and say again, "Eat."

Alistair hesitates, studying his face, but when Duncan keeps smiling, Alistair turns his attention to his food and works on devouring every bite the others have left behind. Under the table, though, his foot finds Duncan's and rests against it for the entire meal.

###

Tabris, of course, teases Alistair whenever Amell isn't around to kick her. Duncan ignores it for the most part, because while she does tease, she doesn't tease mercilessly. There's an underlying fondness to it, and Alistair rolls his eyes at her as often as he blushes. And when Alistair sits beside Duncan that night in camp, close enough that their shoulders are pressed together, Tabris doesn't do anything more than wink at Duncan when Alistair isn't looking.

She deserves a fair amount of credit for resisting, too: the later it gets, the more Alistair fidgets in anticipation. By the time they crawl into their tents for the night, Amell's face is so carefully blank she might as well be laughing, and Mahariel won't meet anyone's eyes.

"They're laughing at me, aren't they?" Alistair asks quietly as Duncan ties the flap of their tent shut. In the grey light of the summer evening, his face is just visible, eyebrows drawn down in thought.

"They are amused," Duncan allows, because there's no point in lying. "But also pleased for you."

And that's the part that pleases Duncan, because while he'd never intended to keep this a secret, he hadn't known for sure how the others would react. He'd had educated guesses, of course, but no certainties, and their casual acceptance is a small relief.

Alistair is watching him from the corner of one eye, fingering the end of his belt nervously. "If I..." he starts, then glances at the tent flap, lowers his voice, and starts over. "If I wanted to kneel for you...right now...could I?" He frowns down at the ground, then up at the canvas, which is low enough that both of them are already on their knees. "Or kneel more, I guess."

"If you wanted to," Duncan says, loosening his own belt. "You're free to kneel for me whenever you want, if we're alone. There may be times I say no, but I promise I won't ever be angry with you for asking."

"Would tonight be a night you say no?"

Duncan smiles. "No."

###

He has Alistair strip down and kneel in the center of the tent while he stretches out on his bedroll, propped on one elbow. For a long time, he just looks, watching Alistair's cock grow harder from nothing more than the weight of his gaze.

When they're in danger of losing what little light remains, Duncan murmurs, "Stroke yourself. Slowly."

And Alistair does, fist sliding over his cock in long, slow strokes, slow enough to make barely any noise at all.

Duncan gives him a little while to fall into a rhythm before saying, "Use both hands."

Alistair's lips part as his breath quickens, his free hand reaching down between his legs to cup his balls, thumb caressing the delicate skin. In better light, he would probably be flushed, but the light is too dim to see anything except shades of grey, and soon even that melts into a pale outline against the dark canvas.

When the last of the light has faded, and Alistair is nothing more than soft gasps and the sound of skin sliding on skin, Duncan says, "That's enough."

The sound of his hand stops, though the panting continues. "Enough?"

"Enough," Duncan says. "Come over here."

It takes a little careful maneuvering in the dark, but they manage to lie down together without either of them getting hurt, Alistair's back against Duncan's chest. Alistair's whole body is quivering with tension, and he twitches when Duncan's fingers brush over his bare hip.

He does more than twitch when Duncan's hand curls around his cock: he groans, loud before he stifles it with a hand. Any embarrassment he might feel isn't evident right now, though, not with his hips rocking to drive his cock into Duncan's fist. The same motion drives his ass back against Duncan's cock, rubbing over it in a way that makes Duncan think of rolling them over, pinning Alistair to the ground, and fucking him until they both come.

Before he can get too carried away, he releases Alistair's cock and murmurs, "Good night," exactly as if there was no difference between this night and any other.

"But-"

"What was the rule about arguing?" Duncan asks, tone mild. Alistair is new enough to this to deserve a few reminders, so long as he doesn't begin relying on them.

Alistair swallows audibly, as if all the things he was going to say had to be physically crammed back down.

"When you kneel for me," Duncan says in his ear, "I get to choose how this ends. Sometimes I might let you come. Sometimes I might not."

The noise Alistair makes is enough like a protest, even if it is wordless, that Duncan says warningly, "Did you think the rule about arguing meant nothing?" That's exactly what Alistair thought, of course, if he gave it any thought at all.

"I just didn't think it meant...this."

"Something to keep in mind, next time," Duncan says. He kisses Alistair's shoulder. "Now go to sleep."

###

Duncan doesn't know how long it takes Alistair to fall asleep--a while, probably--but he does it eventually, and he's still asleep when Duncan wakes just before dawn. The heat of his body pressed close to Duncan's own is heady, and Duncan thinks again about fucking him, his ass or his mouth or the hollow at the top of his thighs. It's a pleasant way to occupy his thoughts, even if he doesn't intend to do any of it this morning, and eventually Alistair stirs and wakes.

After he's stretched and settled back, Duncan slides a hand down his stomach and stops just short of his cock. Alistair went still as soon as he realized where Duncan's hand is headed, and now his only movements are small twitches in his muscles.

"Do you want me to let you come?" Duncan asks in his ear.

Alistair nods once, short and jerky.

"Out loud," Duncan says. "Answer me out loud."

"Please," Alistair whispers.

"Please what?"

"Please, ser." Before Duncan can clarify that it wasn't "ser" he was looking for, Alistair goes on in a breathless rush, "Please, please let me come, please, Maker, I kept having dreams about it, and I'd wake up so fucking hard, and I wanted to-...ah!"

The words are swallowed by a groan as Duncan's hand closes around his cock. He's not shy about it, stroking quick and hard, dragging Alistair to the edge and then over it before Alistair is prepared.

Alistair shakes against him, hips jerking, both hands clapped over his mouth to smother any noises. When he at last sags back, gasping for breath, Duncan releases his cock and drapes that arm over Alistair's ribs instead, careful to keep his hand curled in a loose fist to avoid making a mess.

"Someday," Duncan says, "when we have a good solid door and nice thick walls, I want to learn every sound you can make."

The shiver that runs through Alistair does nothing good for Duncan's control. Fortunately, he's had years to learn it, and he's not going to let go of it now. Not yet.

"What should I do for you?" Alistair asks, almost but not quite tripping over the words.

"You've already done what I wanted," Duncan says.

"But you didn't...you haven't...um."

"No," Duncan agrees. "Not yet. Not this morning."

"You didn't yesterday, or today." Alistair sounds as confused as he did yesterday morning. "Do you not, um, enjoy it?"

Duncan rocks his hips forward and tightens his arm at the same time, pulling Alistair close enough to feel the hard cock pressing against his ass. "I enjoy it quite a bit. But I enjoy other things, as well." Such as anticipation of the next time, that low heat burning in his belly for days on end. There are disadvantages to not being nineteen anymore--he'll never bounce back as fast as Alistair--but there are advantages, too. Being able to appreciate something that lasts beyond the immediate moment, for example.

Though if Duncan does it right, Alistair will learn to appreciate that, too.

###

When they make camp that night, it's clear Alistair thinks he knows how this will go. At Duncan's order, he strokes his cock obediently, but there's no desperation in it. More like grim endurance, and Duncan can all but hear him reminding himself that he won't be allowed to finish.

So Duncan lets him come, and when he's recovered, has him stroke himself until he comes again, a low whine trickling out from between clenched teeth. In the morning, he makes Alistair kneel naked in the middle of the tent while he dresses himself, then sits cross-legged and watches while Alistair strokes himself for a third time.

By the end of that, Alistair is drenched in sweat, so limp he nearly falls over. He's quick enough to crawl across the tent when Duncan beckons, though, and eager for the kisses Duncan presses to his face and throat and shoulders. His cock is half hard again by the time they hear someone moving around outside.

Duncan pushes him gently away, touching his face to make it clear the move isn't a rejection. "Time to get dressed."

Even as he's reaching for his shirt, Alistair glances at the outline of Duncan's cock where it presses against the front of his trousers. "Do you still not want...anything?"

"I want a great many things," Duncan says, looking up and down the length of Alistair's body pointedly. "Believe me."

"I do, I just, I want..." He trails off, frustrated and flustered.

"When you decide how you want to end that sentence," Duncan says, "then we can talk about it."

Alistair isn't happy with that answer, but he nods and begins pulling on his clothes.

###

He doesn't ask about it again.

Part of that might be distraction: it's six days before the next time Duncan lets him come. By the fourth day, Alistair can barely touch his cock before he has to stop, and his eyes beg silently the whole time. On the fifth day, Duncan has him lay down on his back and proceeds to simply touch him, fingers skimming over throat and stomach and thighs, his hard cock lying untouched against his belly. His eyes don't beg that night, but only because he keeps them closed as his lips move in nearly-silent prayers. There are more prayers the following night, prayers that have been reduced to nothing but "please, Maker, please, Maker" by the time Duncan lets him come.

After that, Alistair stops trying to anticipate what will happen next, which was the first thing Duncan wanted. He wants that complete surrender, Alistair staring up at him aroused and exhausted and trusting, no longer thinking about anything except Duncan and what Duncan tells him to do. Anticipation keeps Alistair focused on the future, on what might happen later, not on what's happening now, and now is all he should be thinking about when he's on his knees. Later is for Duncan to worry about, at least until after the game is done.

The more Alistair falls into that role, the harder it is for Duncan to keep even the tiny bit of distance he's established between them. Every time Alistair strokes himself, Duncan thinks about those hands learning how to stroke him. Every time Alistair's mouth opens on a gasp, Duncan thinks about those lips wrapped around his cock. And every time Alistair's ass grinds back against him, Duncan thinks about Alistair moving and groaning underneath him.

After a few weeks, Duncan is almost as desperate as Alistair, though with vastly more experience at keeping his composure. He wants to do a lot of things to Alistair, but what he wants most is to hear Alistair ask for it. For all the times Alistair has begged silently for one thing or another, he's never once asked for anything without prompting. Duncan is prepared to wait as long as it takes.

Even if it kills him.

###

By the end of a month, it feels as though it might.

They're stopped at an inn for a few nights to rest and resupply, and Duncan is taking advantage of the candles to draw things out longer than usual. He doesn't like to go too far when he can't see Alistair's face, but for tonight at least he can continue until one or both of them is actually ready to be done. After this long, Duncan isn't sure which of them will give way first.

Three times he's let Alistair take himself right up to the edge, only to have him stop just shy of finishing. Slow this time, no frantic movements that would leave him breathless, his hand slicked with oil to make it slide more easily. It's about the only part of tonight that Duncan has made easy on him, and there are tears forming in his eyes when he says out of nowhere, "Can I...I mean...may I touch you?"

The formality of the words makes Duncan smile, even as he considers Alistair from his own place seated on the edge of the room's only bed. It wasn't the question Duncan was expecting, not when Alistair has to be desperate to come.

"Perhaps," he allows. "But you'll need to be more specific."

Alistair closes his eyes, his lips forming words silently for several heartbeats before he says, enunciating, "May I please touch your cock, ser?"

"How?" Duncan asks, as if his whole body didn't burn hotter at hearing Alistair finally say it aloud.

"How?" Alistair repeats, his eyes opening to give Duncan a puzzled look.

"Touch my cock how?"

Alistair flushes and looks away. "I...don't know."

It's not perfect, but it is progress. Duncan makes a decision and says, "Look at me."

Blushing or not, Alistair obeys. He's nervous and fidgeting, right up until Duncan begins unlacing his trousers, and then he freezes in place. His eyes are fixed on Duncan's fingers, and when Duncan frees his cock, he licks his lips. Not nervously, either; more like he's tasting something, and Duncan can guess what it was Alistair wanted to say but couldn't.

As if Duncan needed another reason to imagine Alistair's mouth around his cock.

Ignoring that isn't easy, but he tries, pouring a little of the oil into his own palm to stroke himself. He makes no effort to hide how good it feels, the relief of finally allowing himself even this much. The hungry look on Alistair's face certainly doesn't hurt, either, the way his eyes follow every movement of Duncan's hand, memorizing all of it.

Duncan isn't trying to draw this out, which is the excuse he gives himself for not lasting very long. Too many weeks since he could do this, and Alistair's gaze is burning across his skin, and he comes into his fist, breath hissing between his teeth. By the look on Alistair's face, he's almost at that point himself.

At a gesture, Alistair crawls across the floor to meet Duncan, who's lowering himself to his own knees. Alistair's lips are moving in another silent prayer, one that's interrupted by a whimper when Duncan cups the back of his neck to guide his head down to Duncan's shoulder. One hand holding his head there, Duncan wraps the other one around Alistair's cock.

A few rough strokes, then Duncan says into his ear, "When you can ask me for it, you can have it," and Alistair comes, groaning.

###

As long as it took Alistair to work himself up to ask for something without being prompted, Duncan assumes it will be at least a week before Alistair can actually find the words to be more specific. Which makes it a bit of a surprise when he wakes the next morning to find Alistair already on his knees in the center of the room. When Duncan's eyes have blinked him into startled focus, he says very clearly if also very quietly, "May I please suck you cock, ser?"

The rush of blood to Duncan's cock is dizzying even while lying down, and for the life of him, he can't think of a single reason to say no to that hopeful expression. Especially when they don't have anywhere they need to be today.

He pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees wide enough to accommodate Alistair's shoulders. Alistair needs no more invitation than a brief curl of Duncan's fingers in his direction, and while he does hesitate once he's kneeling at Duncan's feet, it seems more self-doubt than reluctance.

Self-doubt is an easy problem to solve when Alistair takes direction so well, following Duncan's instructions eagerly. Just fingertips at first, exploring Duncan's cock as it thickens, brushing over his balls and the hollows at the tops of his thighs. Then hands, gentle despite the rough callouses on his palms, one fist curled loosely around the now-hard shaft while the other works the head carefully. And finally his mouth: tentative licks, tongue teasing the slit, before he wraps his lips around the head to suck.

He checks Duncan's face the way he has a hundred times already this morning, but now? On his knees, his mouth around Duncan's cock, his eyes turned up seeking approval? Now he looks like a dream crafted by a desire demon. A desire demon who's spent far too much time in Duncan's head.

Duncan clenches his fists in the blankets and reminds himself that he is not nineteen and he will _not_ lose control. No matter how perfect Alistair looks like this.

It doesn't hurt to tell him how good he looks, though. "Your mouth is beautiful," Duncan murmurs, freeing a hand to stroke Alistair's cheek. "So beautiful wrapped around my cock. So good, you're so good."

Alistair flushes and looks away, but his mouth slides a little farther down, as if he's trying to prove how good he is by being better.

"Is this how you plan to wake me up every morning now?" Duncan asks. "Will I wake up to you on your knees, waiting to suck my cock?" He pauses to appreciate the wet sound of Alistair's mouth moving, then hurries on before Alistair thinks he's expected to answer rhetorical questions. "You'll practice every day until you know exactly what I like, until I can't think about anything except your mouth."

Duncan rather likes the soft sound Alistair makes deep in his throat, a groan half stifled by the cock in his mouth.

"Not just in the morning," he says, stroking a finger up Alistair's throat. "That mouth is too beautiful to ignore, when I know it could be wrapped around my cock."

The noise Alistair makes this time is alarming, and the way he jerks back even more so, his whole body curving in as his forehead presses hard against Duncan's knee. "Sorry," he gasps, "sorry, I thought I was-...but I didn't, I won't, I promise I won't, don't make me stop, please-"

His hand locked tight around the base of his own cock is the hint Duncan needs, but having gotten that hint, Duncan then needs a moment to ride out the shock of it through his whole body. "Alistair," he says, interrupting the half-incoherent apology.

The words stumble to a halt, but Alistair doesn't look up until Duncan puts a hand under his chin to raise his head. "Alistair." Without thinking, he brushes his thumb across reddened lips and watches Alistair's tongue taste the places he touched. "You'll keep your hands on my cock, not on your own, until I tell you otherwise. But if you _can_ come like that? You may."

Alistair stares at him, wide-eyed, as if he can't quite follow the words, but when Duncan cups the back of his neck, he's quick to take the head of Duncan's cock into his mouth again.

"I want to see you come, just like this." Even the second time, without the added jolt of surprise, the idea makes Duncan's hips try to thrust up before he regains control. "If you can come like this, just from sucking my cock? I promise, angry is the last thing I'll be."

There's that noise again, the same choked groan as before, and now that he knows what it means, how close Alistair is to the edge, Duncan isn't above using that knowledge to his advantage.

"Let me see it," he says, "let me see you come with my cock in your mouth." Then, dropping his voice lower, "Come for me, _now_."

And Alistair does.

###

When he's stopped panting and twitching, Duncan gets him into the bed, spreads him out, and proceeds to coax his body back to readiness with mouth and hands, already thinking about the things he plans to do next. Things he hasn't shown Alistair yet because there were so many other options available, and there'd been no reason to try these when Alistair had yet to manage even a full sentence asking for what he wanted. Now, though? Now that he's watched Alistair come without a hand on his cock?

Now, Duncan finds the oil and slicks his fingers. Fucks Alistair with one only, pressing it in slowly as Alistair moans and begs _pleasepleaseplease_ until his throat stops working and he comes, back arching off the bed. Duncan gives him a little time to recover, then does it again, one finger rubbing and pressing to drag him over the edge for a third time.

Alistair is almost choking on his own gasps for air by now, so Duncan sets the oil aside and pulls him in close, rubbing his back to ground him. There are tears on Alistair's face, but when Duncan reaches for the oil, he's spreading his legs wide before the bottle is even open.

Watching him, Duncan takes a deep breath and makes himself pause. "Alistair, look at me." The look he gets back is clear enough, if distracted by the oil in his hand. "If you want me to stop, then say so."

"I don't," Alistair says. "Please don't."

"You can tell me to stop later," he says, making sure Alistair is paying attention, "but I'm going to do that until either you say stop, or you can't come anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes." His eyes are glazing over again, his voice thick as he asks, "Will you fuck me?"

That voice, asking that question, is part of the same demon dream as Alistair on his knees with his mouth on Duncan's cock. "Do you want me to?" At least Duncan's own voice is calm.

Alistair licks his lips and nods, face red. Before Duncan can prompt him, he whispers, "Please fuck me. Please, I want-"

Duncan fucks him with one finger, deliberately turning the rest of the sentence into gibberish to save his own control. Whatever of it is left at this point.

And even if little enough of it is left, Duncan isn't sure it really matters anymore. Alistair comes again and again, begs for more whenever Duncan stops, presses himself to Duncan to be kissed and petted whenever Duncan declares it time for him to rest a while. One finger pressing into him becomes two, and then it's early afternoon, and he's sleepy and warm and just waking up from a nap, his back to Duncan's chest, and he asks in a drowsy voice, "Fuck me?"

As many times as Duncan has fingered him already today, and as hard as his own cock has been since he woke up, it's easy; they barely even need to move. A hand on Alistair's leg to guide it up and forward, and then all Duncan has to do is find the right angle for their hips, press in with slow, shallow thrusts until he can't go any further and Alistair is shaking against him.

He doesn't rush. Why would he when he can enjoy the heat of Alistair's body tight around his cock, and the broken noises Alistair makes as they move? When he can put his mouth behind Alistair's ear and tell him how good it feels to fuck him, how amazing it is to watch him come again and again, how perfect it is to listen to him beg until his voice is nothing but a whisper.

###

By evening, Alistair is dazed, almost drunk on sensation, too worn out to even move. Tears drip steadily down his face, and he's sobbing for breath in huge, heaving gasps as Duncan brings him off one last time.

Despite the tears, despite the trembling, Alistair doesn't seem interested in stopping. Duncan takes in the way he can barely move and shakes his head. "Stop," he says to Alistair, as firmly as he can when he's almost as tired. The noise Alistair makes could be protest or agreement; between his harsh breathing and the arm he's thrown over his face, it's difficult to interpret anything except complete exhaustion.

Duncan makes a cursory effort to clean up before he collapses back into bed beside Alistair. They're face to face now, Alistair's eyes closed, his lashes damp and spiked with the tears that still occasionally slip down his cheeks.

Duncan is reasonably sure he knows the answer, but he wipes away the most recent tears and asks anyway. "Are you all right?"

Alistair nods, the movement languorous. "Too much," he mumbles, turning his face into Duncan's palm. "I mean, not too much...it was _so_ much, and I couldn't..." His voice is blurring into sleep, his face starting to go slack. "It was a lot. But the good kind of a lot."

"The again kind of a lot?" Duncan asks, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"Mm-hmm," Alistair agrees. "Jus' not t'morrow."

The chances of Alistair even being able to get out of bed tomorrow are slim, but Duncan doesn't bother to point that out. It isn't as if he's doing much better himself.

And besides, he can think of far worse ways to spend a day than in bed with Alistair.


End file.
